When I was Meehan strong once and young

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Last week, amidst all of the political havoc and noise with whats happening in the Albany County Legislature, I received a message that Kevin Meehan had succumbed to esophageal cancer.

I first learned of Kevin’s diagnosis in 2016 and shored myself up against the news by telling saying if there was anyone who could beat this horrific form of cancer, it was Kevin Meehan. I lost my Dad to esophageal cancer in 2003. My Dad was a 62 and lived a remarkably full life. And, even at that time, not much was known or could be done to treat this form of cancer.

Here we were with Kevin, and I assured myself that we would settle the score. By God, “Cancer picked the absolute wrong one this time,” I told myself. Kevin would fight like hell. And of course, he did.

I brought myself back to my days of J.V. football at Bishop Maginn High School, circa 1996-1997. We’d be bused to our away games and I can recall at least one time where Kevin, the team’s captain, would play “Corduroy” by Pearl Jam on a boom box as we made our way into our opposing team’s school’s parking lot. I’d look to the back of the bus and there was Kevin, with an immense and contagious fury, screaming out the lyrics: ” The waiting drove me mad. you’re finally here and I’m a mess.”

He couldn’t wait to get out there and do what we’d worked so hard in practice all week long to do. His his motivation helped those of us who weren’t as skilled or otherwise capable find the courage to step off the bus and head out onto that field and do battle.

On one occassion, Coaches Leahey and Franklin saw fit to put me in on a few plays. It was exhilirating. I got a taste for the the kill-or-be-killed nature of football and wanted more. So, naturally, I looked to Kevin Meehan for guidance. Kevin was perfectly amused at my newfound taste for the madness. He consulted with his Co-Captain, Everton McLean, if he thought that Andrew Joyce could shape up to be a meaningful part of the fight. With a slight nod, Everton complied. On one of our Saturday morning practices, Kevin signaled to one of our defensive coaches, and before I knew it, I was playing center. This is, without a doubt, the toughest position in football. The center is the smartest guy on the field. Kevin’s only advice was to harness that excitement I gained from those few moments of play I had in the past week, and to “explode up from the legs and push his pads up into his neck and chin.” A few terrified plays later, I had gotten my taste for the madness. I was going to commit to this fully, or get myself or one of my teammates seriously hurt. My football career didn’t last much longer after this.

15 years or so later, I decided to make my first official foray into the political realm by running for a seat on the Albany County Legislature. The district I was running in was home to many retired and active Albany Police officers, and my opponent in the race just happened to be a retired Albany cop. It was a grueling, intimidating and oftentimes lonely endeavor.

I found myself trudging along Mountainview Avenue in Albany one afternoon during my campaign when Kevin’s name appeared on my walk sheet. At this point, Kevin was an accomplished and highly respected member of the Albany Police Department. I told myself that if I did catch him at his door, my expecation was that he’d be polite, but dismissive of my efforts. The law enforcement community is a tight knit one, and Kevin wasn’t a political guy to begin with. So, I was just going to say hello and move along.

I met Kevin and his gigantic St. Bernard at the end of his driveway and I awkwardly began to make my pitch. A wave of disbelief came over his face when I explained to him why I knew he couldn’t publicly support my candidacy. “No,” he said. “You put your lawn sign right there,” pointing to his lawn. Mind you, my opponent’s signs dotted nearly every lawn on his street. He could not believe I approached him with so much discouragement.

Once again, so many years later, despite zero indication of any talent or prospect on my part, Kevin Meehan saw something in me and gave me a chance. I felt like I was on that bus again in high school. Instead of giving me the motivation I needed to head out on to the field, Kevin gave me what I needed to carry on that afternoon, and through the rest of the campaign. It’s small, but meaningful moments like that make all of the difference.

Kevin’s family offered what I believe to be the best notice I’ve ever read in the Times Union. The words “protector” and “mentor” appear there and I’m realizing my experience is shared with so many others who Kevin has guided and mentored throughout his blessed 37 years here, whether it be with his family, Maginn football, the Albany Police Department, or even then-dispirited aspiring public servants like me.

Grief is an awful, tricky thing. I’m not going to be heartbroken that Kevin is gone from us in a very superficial, physical sense. I am going to celebrate the time we did have with him, and try to harness that madness and fury he saw in me for when I need it again.